


A Fondness for Rainstorms

by softbutchjirou



Category: Six of Crows - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Honestly just really gross fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softbutchjirou/pseuds/softbutchjirou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every now and then, the Dregs got the pleasure of a peaceful morning, and Jesper and Wylan took advantage of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fondness for Rainstorms

**Author's Note:**

> I was talking to @celeste-ial-charlie about Jesper being ticklish and this is a byproduct of that conversation.

It was the thunder that woke him up. Rain hissed in the air and drummed at the walls of the Barrel. The small bedroom window shrieked and strained against the wind. The heavy clouds hung in a blanket over the city, painting the room with a cold, grey light. Every now and then, the sky would erupt in a flash of white, and soon the thunder would follow, rumbling across the streets of Ketterdam and threatening to shake the bed frame. It was enough to keep Jesper awake, but not enough to shake all the sleep out of him. Some of the more sleepless members of the crew got the chimney going a couple hours ago, so the cold didn’t get to him either. Jesper stayed in bed, turning away from the window and towards the somewhat dimmer half of the room. Autumn was never much fun in Ketterdam, but the rhythm of raindrops against the window was quite soothing. At least, that’s what made Wylan love the storms so much. 

Wylan was sleeping on his back, on shoulder pressed firmly against the wall. Jesper kept one eye open, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Every time the sky rumbled outside, Wylan shifted a little in his sleep. Sometimes he would let out a happy sigh. Sometimes a hint of a smile would play on his lips. Sometimes he would burrow a little closer to Jesper. Wylan was a candle flame in the sharp grey of the bedroom. Everything about him was warm, from the colour of his hair, the freckles dancing on his shoulders and the backs of his hands to the curl of his fingers in Jesper’s hand and the texture of his voice.

There was another crack of thunder, and his eyelashes fluttered. Jesper leaned in a little closer. He shifted around so that most of the stark light from the window was blocked from Wylan’s line of sight. Jesper carded a hand through his hair as the boy blinked and yawned himself awake.

“G’mornin’,” he mumbled. Wylan opened one eye at a time, already flushed and smiling. He made an attempt to look up at Jesper, but failed when his eyes snapped shut of their own accord. “Or maybe not.”

Jesper gave a light chuckle. He moved his hand from Wylan’s hair down to his neck and planted a short, firm kiss on his lips. 

“How about now?” He asked.

Wylan hummed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think faster,” Jesper retorted, kissing Wylan again. He smiled into it, before pulling away from Jesper and pressing his face into the Zemeni boy’s neck.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled. Thunder shook the Barrel once more and Wylan’s grip on Jesper softened. He pulled away and looked Jesper in the eye. “Hello.”

“Hi, love. D’you sleep alright?”

Wylan nodded vigorously, but then his smile dropped in exaggerated irritation. He scrutinized Jesper, making a point to look at his shoulder rather than his face.

“What is it, now?” Jesper teased, tracing patterns into the small of Wylan’s back.

Wylan sat up, scowling. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, exposing his shoulder. He tipped his head away from Jesper in emphasis. Violent, purple marks littered his chest and crawled up his neck to his jaw. A particularly large one bloomed on his collarbone. Jesper smirked. 

“This right here?” Wylan prompted with a raised brow. “This isn’t fair.”

“Complain all you like, but there is nothing you could do to make me agree,” Jesper grinned.

He lifted a finger to trace along the bruises, but Wylan batted his hand out of the way with a click of the tongue. The irritation was quick to leave him, though. He went to lie back down, this time resting on his stomach, with his chin propped on Jesper’s chest. Wylan gave Jesper a small, warm smile, but there was that inkling of sharpness that was signature to Jesper’s grin. It was unusual to see such an expression on the merchling, even though he hasn’t been the merchling for over a year now. It felt strange, surely, but it felt right. Wylan, with his small frame and freckled cheeks and copper hair, was wearing Jesper’s shirt and Jesper’s smile and Jesper’s marks across his chest. Wylan tipped his head to the side and pressed his ear flat against the sharpshooter’s heart. His finger traced along Jesper’s collarbone, and the tiny splotch of purple just below it. 

“How am I supposed to make sure people know you’re taken if these barely show?” Wylan asked innocently, while pressing his thumb on the bruise. 

Jesper gave a small chuckle. He weaved his fingers together under the covers. It was a nervous habit of his now - one that showed up whenever Wylan got particularly daring or Dreg-like. 

“Maybe I should just tattoo you,” he mused. Wylan lifted his head and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Property. Of. Wylan. Van. Eck,” he announced, tapping out the location of each word on Jesper’s skin. 

“Oh,” Jesper responded, “So I’m property now?”

Wylan laughed, and a warm flush made its way onto his face and the tips of his ears. He crawled up the bed and leaned down until his nose met with Jesper’s cheek. 

“Sure,” Wylan whispered against his lips, the traces of a laugh still coming through in his voice. 

Wylan’s forearms were on either side of Jesper’s head, and he twisted a couple stray curls around his fingers. Jesper ran his hands up and down Wylan’s back, who visibly relaxed into the touch. Wylan was still a hair’s breadth away from him, so Jesper tilted his chin up and pulled him into a kiss. It was slow and warm and familiar in the best possible way, and they both smiled into it. Wylan pulled away, cradling Jesper’s jaw with both hands and pressing their foreheads together. Jesper nipped at Wylan’s bottom lip, pulling him closer once more, but then he let go. Jesper snorted, and Wylan followed with a giggle. Neither of them could pinpoint what was making them laugh. Maybe it was just because  _ it’s you _ ; Because this was safe and this was theirs and this was permanent if they could do anything about it. Maybe because they felt the kind of bubbly, overwhelming joy that you get from scaling a mountain and they had no one to blame for it but each other. 

Smiling made Jesper’s face ache. Wylan peppered little kisses on his forehead and cheeks and the tip of his nose. He pecked the underside of his jaw, grinned into the crook of his neck, before wiggling down the mattress. How he managed to be so charming while being the clumsiest outlaw in all of Ketterdam was beyond Jesper. Wylan gave Jesper a final wink before his head disappeared under the covers, and he planted kiss after kiss on his chest, each bolder and slower and heavier than the last. Jesper rolled his head back and let out a satisfied hum. Wylan held him by the hips, rubbing little circles into his hipbones. 

Then, Wylan went stiff above him. Jesper lifted his head in confusion. He felt hot puffs of Wylan’s breath against his stomach, but that was it. His hands were still, and the shape of him under the covers didn’t move at all. 

“Wylan?” Jesper tried. 

“Yes?” He replied, and Jesper could hear the mischievous grin that came with it. A small bundle of worry built in his stomach, and he was about to ask Wylan another question, but the boy leaned down and blew a raspberry in the very centre of Jesper’s stomach. 

Jesper let out a shrill yelp and the sheets went flying. He flailed, sitting up so quickly he almost  knocked foreheads with Wylan. Wylan jumped away as fast as he could, laughing, broad and shameless, at the terror in Jesper’s expression. 

“You little shit,” Jesper said, but there was no bite to it. Wylan stayed sitting at the end of the bed, and laughed even harder. Jesper growled, and the thunder seemed to back him up. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan replied. He stretched his arms out towards Jesper. “Let me make it up to you.”

Jesper rolled his eyes. He grabbed Wylan’s wrists and pulled him close. He made to kiss the Kerch boy again, but Wylan had other ideas. He licked his lips, trying and failing to hold back a smile, and gently brushed his fingers along Jesper’s ribs. Jesper jerked away again, falling back onto the bed, yet Wylan continued his assault. He tickled at Jesper’s sides, narrowly avoiding the Zemeni boy’s flailing limbs. 

“Wylan! No! Saints, stop!” he cried. Jesper felt the tears build in his eyes. “I’m serious, stop or I’ll shoot you!” It was difficult to take that sentence to heart when Jesper laughed his way through it.

He grabbed Wylan’s wrists, flipped them over, and pinned his hands on either side of the merchling’s head. “You wouldn’t,” Wylan teased, “Especially with an unloaded gun.”

Jesper raised a brow. He always kept it loaded, and Wylan knew that. Jesper eyed him suspiciously. He reached for the pistol on his bedside table, and flicked the cylinder open. It was empty. Wylan threw him a triumphant smile. 

“You’re infuriating,” Jesper told him. He set the pistol back down. Maybe he’d repay the merchling with another bruise. After all, half of his neck was still perfectly bare.  

“What?” Wylan laughed. His blush had spread from his face, all the way down his chest. “I thought I was cuter when I’m smart.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” he replied. Wylan looked away, hiding behind his hands. “But last time I checked, those traits aren't mutually exclusive. Plus, you're pretty good at multitasking.”

He curled around Wylan, nuzzling into his hair. Jesper felt the firm press of Wylan’s fingers as they traced up and down his bare spine. One of his arms hung loosely on Wylan’s waist, and the other played with the fiery curls of his hair. They were dancing on the line between sleep and consciousness, reveling in the closeness and the music of the storm. 

“Jesper?”

“Yeah?”

“Your feet are really cold.”

“Deal with it, merchling. That’s what you get for tickling me.”


End file.
